


mac gets kissed

by yennefers



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: M/M, Season/Series 13, paddy's pub: a gay bar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-06
Updated: 2018-11-06
Packaged: 2019-08-19 20:50:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16541987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yennefers/pseuds/yennefers
Summary: “The facts,” Artemis announces, pacing in front of the flipchart, “are these. At 11:05am yesterday morning, Mac Mcdonald, co-owner and proprietor of Paddy’s Pub, kissed a man at the Philadelphia Pride Parade. He kissed an attractive man. A shirtless man. A man wearing a ballroom mask, thus obscuring his face. A man who did not, despite the alleged length and quality of the kiss, give him his number. It is my belief - it is my firm and unequivocal belief - that the mystery kisser is in this room with us right now. And I intend to prove this to you, on my client’s behalf.”“I never hired you,” Mac says.“Irrelevant,” says Artemis.





	mac gets kissed

**Author's Note:**

> this fic wouldn't exist without [gene](https://stellaviatores.tumblr.com) and [ellie](http://softglenn.tumblr.com), who are actual angels and the sole reason this got finished. ily both dearly <3

  
“Do I really have to be here? I know I didn’t kiss Mac at the parade. I barely saw him, I was with Frank the whole time.”

“He was,” Frank says, nodding. “We were runnin’ a booze-water bottle scheme. I can vouch for him.”

“It sure as shit wasn’t Charlie,” Mac agrees. At least he knows that for certain. “I’ve kissed Charlie, this guy didn’t kiss like Charlie.”

Charlie, from what he remembers, actually kisses sweet and kinda chaste, and smells more like gasoline than anything else. Charlie kisses like it’s a placeholder, something to fill the moment - like it’s a fun thing to do when you’re sleepy, or high, or both. And Charlie definitely doesn’t use tongue.

“Wait,” Dee says. She turns in her chair to face Mac, frowning. “Hold up,  _you’ve_ kissed Charlie?”

“Spin the bottle, 1995,” Mac says, waving an impatient hand. “You weren’t there, we left you in a tree in Fairmount Park. Anyways - whoever this dude was, he didn’t kiss like Charlie, he definitely didn’t smell like Charlie, so if you’re gonna do this you can go ahead and take him out of the equation right now.”

“He’s a suspect until I say he isn’t,” Artemis says, sternly. “He stays in the suspect corner.”

She claps her hands together, gaining the attention of the room. Silence falls with a hush so sudden that it almost reminds Mac of mass. This whole thing really wasn’t what he had in mind when he asked Artemis for help, but he will admit that she has a considerable amount of stage presence. Artemis is kind of terrifying, actually. He can’t tell if that’s a good thing or not.

“These,” Artemis begins, picking up a pool cue and brandishing it at the flip chart, “are our suspects. Charlie Kelly. Rex Hoban. Brad Fisher. Dennis Reynolds. All four attended the Pride parade. All of them have agreed to sit before us now for questioning.”

“I didn’t agree to this,” Brad snaps. “You people put a bag over my head and kidnapped me.”

“My boyfriend wants me home by 2,” Rex says. He sounds confused and mildly apologetic.

“We will interrogate each suspect in turn,” Artemis continues loudly, “and the jury will discuss new evidence as it is revealed to them. Nobody - and I mean this very, very seriously - nobody is allowed to leave this room until the kisser’s identity has been confirmed.”

“Jesus Christ,” Dennis mutters from the suspect corner, massaging his temples.

“Silence!” Artemis shouts, slapping the pool cue against the flip chart. It creaks ominously, like it’s thinking about falling down and giving up on everything altogether.

The low muttering that’s been building cuts out like a match dipped in water. Artemis’ eyes glitter with something wild when she says, slowly: “Charlie Kelly, you may approach the stand.”

*

_Saturday,_ _10:15am_

_The keg room_

_Philadelphia, PA_

_“Wait,” Charlie says. “Wait, wait, wait. No booze? I thought this was a gay party thing. Shouldn’t a gay party have drinks?”_

_“The city,” Frank says, his voice slightly muffled, and the majority of his upper body inside an ice box, “went and banned alcohol from the whole parade. You believe that? These gays get shit on all year and they can’t even bring booze to their own party. That’s why we’re gonna fix it. Gimme that water bottle.”_

_“This one?”_

_Charlie reaches for the clear bottle sat on the crate next to him and holds it up, shaking it a little. The contents splashes around inside. Frank emerges from the cooler with a wave of frosty air, a bottle of vodka clutched in each hand._

_“Yeah, that’s the one. Pour a little out first, though.”_

_“Pour it out?”_

_“Just a little. We’re gonna make room for - Jesus, Charlie, the hell are you doing?”_

_“You said to pour it out!”_

_*_

“And what did you do with these vodka-water bottles, Mr Kelly?”

Charlie frowns.

“We snuck them into the parade,” he says, like he’s stating the obvious. “Then we sold them.”

“Fifteen bucks a piece,” Frank says, nodding proudly. “Real bargain.”

“And whereabouts were you in the parade?”

“Oh, shit,” Charlie says. He scratches his head. “Uh. The back? I’m pretty sure we were at the back. Frank?”

“Yeah, we were at the back,” Frank says. “Behind the leprechaun strippers.”

Mac makes a short, frustrated sound. He resists the urge to flip the table - which would, admittedly, be an incredibly cool and badass thing to do, but it would also make this situation drag out for even longer than necessary. He needs to be cool and collected. He needs to be Indy, if Indy ever had to go to court. Not that he would, because Indiana Jones is governed by forces above and beyond the law, but, you know. You get the idea.

“When I kissed this guy, I was right at the front,” he insists, crossing his arms. “I’m telling you, there’s no way it could’ve been Charlie. No way.”

Artemis sighs. She clicks her painted nails - black, with small skulls - against the flip chart for a second, before reluctantly picking up a whiteboard pen and crossing Charlie’s name off the list.

“Fine,” she says. She doesn’t sound entirely convinced. “Charlie, you’re cleared. For now. Leave the suspect corner and join the jury.”

Charlie shrugs. He walks over and takes the empty seat in-between Mac and Frank, cracking open one of the many beers that are sat on the table.

Mac glances over at the remaining suspects. Rex looks bored, Brad looks equal parts nervous and furious, and Dennis looks… kind of similar to Brad, actually. Just sulkier. Mac really, really hopes he doesn’t intend to make this one of his all-day sulk offs. He’s the one who’s gonna have to go home with him after all this, and Predator’s never as good when Dennis is giving him the silent treatment.

“All right,” Artemis says, once Charlie’s got himself settled. She points the pool cue over at the suspect corner, flinging it so dramatically that it nearly smacks an affronted looking Brad on the nose. “Rex. 11am, yesterday morning. What were you doing?”

“Well,” Rex says, his brow furrowed. “At 11? I was probably getting a smoothie at the Blitz ‘n Crush.”

*

_Saturday,_ _10:55am_

_Blitz ‘n Crush Smoothie Bar Emporium_

_Philadelphia, PA_

_There is an art to pouring a miniature bottle of alcohol into a large takeaway cup while in a public forum. It takes time. It takes nerve. It takes a steady hand, quiet surroundings, and as few interruptions as possible._

_“Dee? Dee Reynolds?”_

_“Yeah?” Dee says - turning around in her seat, shoving the mini-rum frantically in her pocket. “Yes! Yes, of course, and you’re - you know, you’re -”_

_“Tyler, this is Dee! She was an Asskicker too, back in the day. Dee, this is Tyler. My boyfriend.”_

_Dee glances between the pair of them. They’re not wearing shirts - they are both, however, wearing large amounts of body glitter, and Rex has a black ballroom mask in his hands, peacock feathers sticking out at odd angles._

_“I - nice… to meet you. Again. I guess? Not really, actually - look, I’m, uh, I’m kind of in the middle of something, waiting for a phone call -”_

_“Oh, no worries,” Rex says easily. There’s something about him: Dee doesn’t know what it is, exactly, but there’s something about him that says he’ll never truly be at home until he’s shirtless on a beach in California, holding an obnoxiously huge surfboard and talking about In ‘n Out. “Yeah, no worries, just wondering if you’d seen Mac around?”_

_“Not for a while,” Dee says, frowning. “You and Mac still talk?”_

_“He said he’d come watch the dance performance!” Tyler the Boyfriend says brightly._

_“What dance? I thought this whole thing was pretty much a dance?”_

_“The shirtless ballroom dancers,” Rex explains. “We’re gonna be leading the parade - you know, in front of all the floats? And all the funds are going to the Trans Youth Proje-“_

_“Yeah, I don’t care,” Dee says. She gets to her feet, walking backwards towards the door - this whole mini-rum operation’s been compromised, she’s gonna have to finish it somewhere else. “Haven’t see Mac, didn’t know about the dance thing, great to see you again or whatever. Bye.”_

*

“We should’ve kidnapped the boyfriend too,” Frank says, frowning contemplatively. “Startin’ to sound like he’s the kingpin.”

“You should not have kidnapped anyone!” Dennis snaps from his corner. “There should’ve been no kidnapping at  _all_ , Frank, this is ridiculous -“

“Order!” Artemis yells, smacking the pool cue against the floor. Dennis cuts himself off mid-rant, slouching down in his seat, but it’s easy to see that he’s still fuming - there’s a scowl tugging on the corners of his mouth and his nostrils are all flared. It’s not his most attractive look.

(Still hot, though. Just in a weird, angry sort of way. It’s not easy, looking at your best friend and thinking about how hot he is - but as a gay man it’s pretty much Mac’s job to notice shit like this. Someone’s gotta do it.)

“Rex, may I ask you a personal question?”

“Uh,” says Rex.

“Excellent,” says Artemis briskly. “Wonderful. Thank you. Now: would you consider yourself attractive?”

Rex shrugs.

“I’m pretty ripped.”

“He’s pretty ripped, ladies and gentlemen,” Artemis announces. “He’s pretty ripped. As is, arguably, another individual stood in this courtroom. Rex, if you admit that a muscular physique is something you find attractive in men - would it therefore also be reasonable to assume that Mr Mcdonald, given his current physical appearance, is attractive to you?”

Rex shrugs again.

“Sure. Mac’s hot.”

“Thanks, bro,” Mac says, because that’s a pretty big compliment coming from a beefcake like Rex. They air fist-bump, and Dennis, for some reason, makes this weird choking sound from his corner.

“So,” Artemis continues, sounding sly, “just to be clear - you are attracted to my client. You were one of the shirtless dancers, which means your attire would fit with my client’s account of the kiss. And, last but not least, you admit you were  _looking_ for Mac even before the pride parade began?”

Rex squints at her.

“I don’t -“

“Wait, wait, wait,” Dee cuts in, frowning. “Hold on. I’m confused. Where does the boyfriend fit into all this?”

“Tyler!” Rex says - his expression brightening, like he’s happy to be back on familiar ground. “Yeah. Tyler’s great. We’ve actually got a date tonight. First anniversary.”

“So if Rex is with this Tyler dude,” says Charlie, like a realisation is starting to dawn on him, “why would he kiss Mac at the parade?”

“Well,” Frank starts, “I mean, back in my day, people used to -“

“Stop talking,” Dee says. “Just stop now. Don’t finish that thought, nobody wants to hear your -“

“You guys think I kissed Mac?”

There’s a short silence. Mac, along with everyone else, turns to face Rex with an incredulous frown.

“Well yeah, dude,” Mac says, slowly. “That’s kinda the point of this whole thing.”

“I didn’t,” Rex says. He jerks a thumb over at the suspect corner. “He did, though.”

The room descends into chaos.

*

“I didn’t kiss him!” Brad shouts. “Goddamnit, I didn’t kiss anyone, what is wrong with you people?”

“Brad  _Fisher_?” Dee says, sounding revolted. “Seriously, Mac, come on -“

“You’ve kissed him!” Mac protests - he can feel himself flushing red, and it’s awful, and he’s never going to be able to look anyone in the eye again. Ever again. “And it’s not like I knew who I - look, we don’t even have any proof! There’s no proof!”

“Order in the court,” Artemis yells over the din. “Order in the court, please, everyone. Thank you. Let me settle this.”

She turns to Rex.

“My client raises a valid point. What’s your evidence?”

Rex’s brows furrow. He ducks his head and scrolls through his phone for a second, like he’s looking for something, and then:

“Mac. D’you remember what his mask looked like? The guy who kissed you?”

“It was green and gold, I think,” Mac says, slowly. “Kinda feathery.”

Rex nods. He shows his phone screen to Artemis - Mac cranes his neck, trying to catch a peek, but all he sees is a blur of colour.

“Oh, interesting,” Artemis says. She sounds delighted, which is a bad sign. “Very interesting. Excellent.”

Mac’s palms are itching. He feels hot and kinda restless and it must show, because Artemis glances over at him and drawls, “easy there, Ronald,” like she thinks that’s going to calm him down at all, and then flashes Rex’s phone screen at him.

“Recognise this?”

Mac lets out a frustrated huff - he might just walk out, honestly, fuck this whole thing, maybe him and this mystery guy weren’t meant to be after all - but then he leans closer, and his stomach drops down into his shoes.

“No,” he says, faintly. “No, no, there’s no way -“

“Brad Fisher,” Artemis crows, satisfied and triumphant. “You claim to have never kissed my client. You have claimed this consistently and vehemently since the beginning of this trial. So why is it, then, that you can clearly be seen in the photograph I have before me, wearing attire that exactly matches my client’s description? Why is it that you have been  _lying_ to this courtroom for -”

“Jesus Christ! That’s not me!”

“It sure looks like you, dude,” Charlie points out. “I mean - the hair, the body - we can’t see the face, but the whole thing’s looking pretty similar to me.”

Brad makes a low, strangled sound.

“Look, I - someone took my goddamn mask, all right?”

Artemis narrows her eyes.

“Some other dude got pissed with me and made me give him my mask,” Brad insists, half-angry, half-exhausted. “That’s not me in the picture. I swear. What time was taken?”

Rex taps his phone screen.

“Just before 12,” he says. Brad nods.

“Yeah. No way.”

“Give me one reason to trust your word,” Artemis snaps.

Brad swallows. He pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Not… not that it’s any of your business, but I got arrested for being drunk and disorderly. I was only in the parade for about twenty minutes before I got my ass handed to me by some cop. And I definitely lost my mask before I got caught.”

“All right,” Charlie says, slowly. “Okay. So it wasn’t me, and it wasn’t Rex, and it wasn’t Brad. That means… it was mystery man, right? The guy in Brad’s mask?”

“Very well reasoned, Charles,” Artemis says. She steeples her fingers, frowning thoughtfully. “Very well reasoned. And correct. Whoever’s behind that mask was behind the kiss. Without a doubt.”

Hope kindles in Mac’s chest again, fluttering insistently against his ribs. He turns to Charlie, grinning - only to catch sight of Dee drumming her fingers nervously on the table, before she mouths something that looks suspiciously like, fuck it.

“I have something I want to add into evidence,” she blurts out.

The room goes very, very quiet.

The next minute and a half are… confusing. Dee walks quickly over to Artemis and they duck their heads together, peering at a folded piece of paper that Dee produces from her pocket - there’s gasping from Artemis, and frantic whispering from Dee, and then there’s a brief period of silence before Artemis clears her throat.

“Mr Fisher,” she says. Brad groans.

“Oh, come on. It wasn’t me, we just went over this -”

“I know it wasn’t you, idiot,” Artemis cuts in, waving a dismissive hand in his direction. “You’re a witness now, not a suspect. Keep up. Can you tell the people of the jury how you heard about the dancing performance?”

“I… saw a flyer?” Brad says. He sounds confused, like this wasn’t the kind of question he was expecting at all. “Found it on a notice board, signed up from there. Thought it’d be a great way to catch chicks.”

“And can you remember the wording of this document?” Artemis presses. “Can you recall, perhaps, the content of it? The description?”

Brad shrugs.

“They wanted volunteers to dress up and lead the parade. Five dollar entry fee, all you had to do was show up shirtless wearing one of those masquerade ball things on your face.”

“So the main tenets of this event, in your opinion, were shirtlessness and anonymity in a public forum? Do you agree with that assessment?”

“Objection!” Dennis snaps. He looks oddly pale. “She’s leading the witness -“

“Overruled,” Frank shouts, smacking his hand down on the table.

“Shirtlessness,” Artemis says, sounding satisfied. “And anonymity. Two things which, as the majority of this courtroom is aware, our fourth and final suspect holds in high favour.”

“This is ridiculous,” snaps Dennis - his eyes are wide and his wavy hands motions are getting bigger and more frantic, which probably means, if Mac’s hunch is right, that his temper is about to break.

“Is it?” Artemis says, dangerously soft. “Then perhaps you would like to explain to me, Mr Reynolds -“

She reaches into her pocket and slams the crumpled piece of paper onto the flipchart.

“- why a copy of this flyer was found in your bedroom this very morning?”

*

_Saturday, 11:02am_

_Locust Street_

_Philadelphia, PA_

_The mask itches like a bitch, but that’s all part of the thrill._

_It had taken him over an hour to find one that appropriately framed his nose and his cheekbones. It was black lace, mostly, with a delicate glitter trim that shimmered when it caught the light - technically it was from the women’s section, but the menswear had been woefully lacking in class and it makes his jawline pop. Ballroom masks, in Dennis’ opinion, should come back into mainstream fashion, because he’s kinda disappointed that he won’t be able to wear this regularly._

_There are so many eyes on him, watching him as he moves: he looks good, he knows he looks good, but god, it’s exhilarating to have this kind of attention. He looks so unbelievably good. He looks perfect, he looks incredible, he looks -_

_An open water bottle soars through the air in front of him. Something sticky and lukewarm splashes him right in the face._

_“Jesus!” a voice wheezes from behind him. “Jesus - oh my god, that went down rough -“_

_“You paid fifteen bucks for that? Are you serious?”_

_Dennis turns slowly on his heel - hot fury building in him like a wave. There are two guys in front of him, one tall, one a little shorter, both stumbling around like idiots and coughing like they’d just swallowed a mothball. Neither of them, he notes, have masks or abs as nice as his. Amateurs._

_“You,” he says impatiently to the shorter one, clicking his fingers. “Mask. Now.”_

_The short guy scowls at him._

_“The hell are you -“_

_“Let me explain this to you,” Dennis points out, cold and dangerously calm. “Let me explain what you’ve just done. You ruined my mask, which I spent thirty hard earned dollars on. You ruined my moment, which the mask was essential to maintaining. So either you give me yours, and we both move on from this, or you don’t give me yours, and I tell the first cop I see about the bottle of alcohol you just assaulted me with. Your choice.”_

_“Jesus, dude,” the Short Asshole says, shaking his head. He muffles a hiccup into his elbow. “Whatever. Take the fuckin’ thing and leave me alone.”_

_Dennis snatches the mask out of his hand - Short Asshole stumbles away, his friend trailing after him, leaving the mask and the strong smell of alcohol behind him._

_“Tacky piece of shit,” Dennis mutters, looking down at his replacement critically. It’s far too gaudy for his tastes, and the feathers aren’t doing it any favours - but he can make it work, naturally, because with a jawline like his you can make anything work. He puts it on and rolls his shoulders, walking forward again, and the parade has only been moving for a few more minutes when he hears a familiar voice caught somewhere in the mess of laughter and shouting and music; a voice he’d know anywhere, because he’s known it for so long._

_Mac’s leaning over the security barrier that separates the parade from the crowd surrounding it like he’s thinking of vaulting it all together. His dimples are out in full force and he has twin messy rainbows painted on his cheeks. He’s smiling so wide that his eyes are crinkled at the edges._

_Their eyes lock, just for a second. There’s about a metre of distance between them and Dennis closes it, dream-like, his legs apparently moving of their own accord - as he gets closer he braces himself for the disappointed flash of recognition, but it never comes. Mac’s just looking at him like he’s a stranger, biting his lower lip a little._

_“Hi,” Mac says. He sounds sheepish, almost shy. Like he’s about to ask Dennis what his name is or try out a pickup line. The parade is moving around them, even as they both stand still. They have another minute, maybe two, before the force of the crowd pushes them forward and the moment breaks._

_Dennis steps closer; once, twice. He leans over the barrier. He slides one hand smoothly around Mac’s waist and then settles it on the small of his back, pressing their bodies close together; he leans in like it’s the easiest, most natural thing in the world, cupping Mac’s cheek in his free hand, and Mac makes this breathless little sound, his eyes flicking shut -_

*

“Goddamnit,” Dennis hisses. “Dee, we had a deal -“

“That I’d keep my mouth shut around Mac! You never said anything about Artemis and you know it, come on -“

“That’s not the - it was implied -“

“It was you?”

Mac’s not really aware that he’s talking until the question already out of his mouth. He feels dazed: like someone’s dunked him underwater or like he’s tripped on a staircase, or both all at once.  Dennis glances over at him and then glances away just as quick, a flush riding high on his cheeks.

“Yes,” he snaps. “Fine, I was in the parade, I’m the one who - look, whatever. It doesn’t matter. Happy now?”

Mac frowns at him, because, honestly?

“No way.”

There’s an incredulous silence.

“What?”

“No  _way_ , dude. There’s no way it was you.”

“The hell do you mean, no way?” Dennis says. “Mac, I’m literally admitting to it, what more do you -“

“There’s no way you’re that good a kisser!” Mac insists. “I’ve seen you kiss, it’s like - weird and sloppy, your mouth gets all gapey -“

These are, in Mac’s opinion, all good and valid points, hard though they may be for Dennis to hear. The trouble is Dennis doesn’t seem to want to listen to him at all.

“Jesus christ,” Dennis mutters - he moves out of the suspect corner, stalking across the floor, he grabs Mac by the collar and drags him upright - and then, before Mac has time to protest, Dennis is kissing him in front of the gang and God and everybody else.

It’s an angry, frustrated sort of kiss. If Mac’s being honest it doesn’t really remind him of the day before at all, but then;  _then_ , like the breaking of a dam or the flicking of a switch, Dennis‘ mouth softens against his. His hands come up to cup Mac’s face. Dennis tastes faintly of beer and he kisses insistently, like he’s got a point to prove. He kisses like he’s been thinking about this for a while, and the hot wet slide of his tongue over Mac’s makes Mac shudder, lean in him closer.

“You guys can stop now,” Dee’s voice says. She sounds very far away. Dennis lets his teeth graze over the swell of Mac’s bottom lip and Mac lets out a low little sound, grabbing at the front of Dennis’ shirt and curling his hands into fists. There’s no space between them now - it’s easy, pressed up against each other like this, for Mac to slip his thigh between Dennis’ legs until they’re intertwined even more, two vines curling around each other.

“Order in the court!” Frank shouts, slamming a fist down on the table hard enough that the whole thing creaks in protest.

Dennis pulls back. His cheeks are flushed, Mac notes dazedly. So are his lips. It’s a good look on him.

“Oh,” Mac says.

“ _Oh_.” Dennis rolls his eyes as he straightens out his collar. “Honestly. Sloppy kisser, my ass.”

Artemis clears her throat.

“It is the will and right of this jury,” she says, clapping her hands together, “that my client, if satisfied by the evidence placed before him, will make his closing statement with -“

“Yeah, no,” Mac says. His hands are still curled lightly in Dennis’ shirt. “Nah, I think me and Dennis are gonna go home.”

“Court’s still in session!” Frank protests.

“The man has a point,” Dennis says mildly. “Maybe we should stay a little longer. Clear some loose ends.”

Mac glances up at him, frowning - and Dennis’ gaze flicks over to meet his, the corners of his mouth curling up.

”Go with me on this,” he murmurs as he leans forward, quiet enough that only they can hear - and then he folds his arms around Mac’s neck and starts kissing him again like they have all the time in the world and none of it to spare, all at once.

”Oh my  _god_ ,” says Dee.

“Frank, can we go?” says Charlie, “‘cause if they’re just gonna be doing more of this I’d rather head down to the bridge.”

“Wait, so we can leave now?” Rex sounds confused. “Not that this hasn’t been fun, but -“

“Yeah, whatever,” Dee says, dismissively. “Get out of here. All of you get out. This is officially too much for me.”

Mac hears several sets of footsteps traipse their way towards the door but he doesn’t see it, because his eyes are closed and Dennis’ mouth is still moving slowly against his. Mac slots one thigh between Dennis’ legs again and Dennis arches up against it with a satisfied hum that leaves Mac’s lips tingling.

A foot kicks, none too lightly, at Mac’s ankles.

“Hey, assholes. Move it.”

“They won’t stop,” Artemis says. She sounds bored. “I’ve seen this before. Male immaturity at its finest. Nothing to do now but wait it out, baby girl.”

Dee groans.

“At least lock the goddamn bar when you leave,” she calls out - and then there are two more sets of footsteps making their way towards the door.

“Dennis?” Mac says. Dennis makes an inquiring sort of hum, ducking his head to nose at Mac’s jaw.

“I, um.” Mac swallows. His throat clicks. “I think they’re gone.”

“Seems like they are,” Dennis says - and his voice has taken on the low, amused warmth that usually only appears when he’s on the edge of sleep. “Good work.”

He’s pressing kisses down Mac’s neck, now; hot and open mouthed. If it’s meant as a distraction, it’s working - it takes a monumental amount of effort to pull himself away just enough that he can look Dennis in the eye. He takes a long deep breath and that sort of does the trick, because the kiss-heavy fog in his head starts to clear a little.

“Were you ever gonna tell me?”

Dennis sighs. He opens his mouth, like he’s about to say something, and then ducks his head and looks down instead: he’s quiet, all of a sudden, the bravado gone. The lightness in Mac’s chest starts to deflate.

“It’s fine,” he says. The words come out very fast. “It’s - I get it, dude -“

“Mac.”

Dennis’ voice sounds snappish and strained. He’s looking very studiously at the floorboards.

The thing about Dennis, Mac reflects, is that he’s kind of an idiot. He’s an idiot about a lot of things. Dennis wants his whole life to be perfect the way a movie is perfect; he wants to arrange everything just so, and no matter how many times the universe takes a shit all over his careful planning, he keeps trying - out of vanity or desperation or something else entirely, Mac isn’t sure.

Every so often, despite everything working against him, he lucks out. Maybe that’s why Dennis keeps doing it. For those brief moments where it all lines up.

“So how would you have done it?”

Dennis glances up, like he’s been caught off-guard.

“What?”

“If…” Mac trails off. He licks his lips, then tries again. “If, y’know. It’d been up to you.”

“At home,” Dennis says, cautiously. Then, quieter: “Alone.”

It’s not much to work with - although knowing Dennis there’s undoubtedly more to it than that, and it probably involves things like candles and italian food and a Winwood playlist. It’s enough for Mac to get an idea in his head.

“Cool,” Mac says. Dennis shoots him a withering look, but he doesn’t resist when Mac kisses him again, or when Mac takes hold of his hand and starts tugging him gently towards the door and the street outside, where the range rover’s waiting in its usual spot on the curb. He squeezes Mac’s hand briefly before he lets go to open the driver’s side door - and it’s not a thank you, exactly, but it’s as close as Dennis gets.

He’ll take it.

*

_“Oh my god.” Dee sounds stunned, breathless from laughing as Mac stumbles back over to her. “Oh my fucking - Jesus, Mac, who the hell was that guy?”_

_“I have no idea,” Mac says, faintly. He reaches up to touch his bottom lip, heart racing, his eyes searching for a figure that’s already melted away into the crowd. His fingers comes away slick and glittery. There are faint remnants of cherry lip balm smudged across his mouth. The smell of it is oddly familiar._

 

**Author's Note:**

> so back before s13 started, around when the episode titles were released and the set pics of the paddy's gay bar got leaked, i started writing this to cope w my excitement. i cannot believe that in less than 24hrs i will have watched the actual ep itself. time is fake
> 
> thank u for reading my loves!! hmu on [tumblr](https://azirapha1e.tumblr.com) if ur also having big feelings abt the season finale. we are, as a wise man once said, all in this together


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